Jurassic Park IV: E L E
by BrachioInGen
Summary: DEFUNCT: Read Emergence for an revamping of this story
1. Prologue

**Jurassic Park IV**

**E. L. E.

* * *

**

Based on the novels by:

Michael Chrichton

and the film adaptations by:

Michael Crichton

David Koepp

Written by:

Bernard Kyer/ BrachioInGen

* * *

A little About the story:

My first attempt at writing a fan-fiction for Jurassic Park, Jurassic Park IV: E. L. E. has been a sort of love child of mine for many years. My original fascination with telling the tales of what my friends and I did as children inspired me to create a world of my own in an offshoot of the Jurassic Park storyline.

I've been writing this story on and off for nearly 8 years now--since The Lost World came out. My original draft has very little to do with this, the–hopefully–final version of the tale.

This is a personal story as well. I'm writing this as an homage to a dear friend who passed away who, like in everything I did, was enthused and supportive. I write this for you John.

The original iteration may be completely separate from this one but none the less, many vital parts carry over. It has been my continued hope to write a story on Hammond post-Nublar. His character has been the most dynamic of them all and I believe, deserves to be more of a catalyst than "I'm sending you back." I also write this story to not only answer a lot of questions about the Jurassic Park universe, but at the same time, wrap up the story. (As can be seen with many films, too many sequels can spell disaster for a franchise: JP is no exception. )

I have continued to attempt to write to the times and to the people of the Jurassic Park fan base and this story is also an attempt at that. Many characters appear again, some for the first time since their original viewing in either the book or film, and many plot lines, left abandoned, are resurrected: call it "artistic nostalgia." This story will ultimately end the franchise but at the same time, leave it open for the reader to decide what is best.

So sit back, put on some John Williams, and enjoy!

I do not make any claim to owning the characters or anything of Jurassic Park past that of my own devising and adapting.

* * *

**Prologue**

Dinosaurs exist. The world knows this now. Ever since the incident in San Diego, information on the so called "Dinosaur Island" become a hot commodity, not to mention a hot topic for heated debate world wide.

Little is known, though, to the general public about InGen and its actions nearly thirteen years ago on the isolated island of Isla Nublar. Costa Rica certainly doesn't talk about it and InGen, a now frailing community of farming equipment manufacturers, saved from the jaws of complete and utter demise wrote off the past in non-disclosure agreements, barring most from speaking. All but one man: John Hammond.

Since the San Diego incident, John had made a good public image of himself. He spoke out about the animals they had birthed and remained outspoken on the issue for years, pressing the need to "quarantine and contain" the islands off the coast of Costa Rica for the protection of man and most importantly in his eyes, the animals that thrived on their rocky shores.

In recent years, John's health had begun to slip. His appearances on television grew few and far between until his last public appearance on the O'Reilly show.

Bill O'Reilly had been leaning over his desk, and, fire in eyes, began attacking John from an economic standpoint, saying how the government should be using money to save children from illness and help the elderly with their medication and not on bailing out companies. Then he sardonically asked where ethically John "got off" on cloning creatures that shouldn't be alive. At that point, John began to lean to one side. His eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out onto the floor.

Mid-interview, John had a stroke and was rushed to the hospital. Bill later came out apologizing for attacking the frail old man. From then on, things were different. The support for saving the islands grew less and less organized, leaving the debate less in the public arena, giving the UN the ability to focus on dealing with the chain more privately. John became a recluse, remaining in his mansion, attending to himself.

And now, as a frail and senile man, John Hammond spent most of his day lying in bed, muttering, and occasionally screaming out to the nurses who would rush to his bedside. Many a nurse had left because of the blood curdling screams from John, let alone the frightening things he would say.

He would often grab the nurses, stare into their eyes, and say quietly, almost under his breath "they've escaped. They're coming! Don't let them get me! They're slice us apart! They'll gnaw on your bones and rip out our stomachs!" Few nurses wanted to hear the constant threat of being mauled to death and many often left his aid for services elsewhere.

This is how he remained, having slept in his bed for nearly five months. His room was clean, but cluttered with "Get-well soon, Grandpa!" cards and flowers. His desk, laden with folders and several lap tops, beeping every second or so, flashing images of the island chain, updating the movement of the animals via red dots.

The mid-morning sun was sneaking in through the shades that had not yet been drawn, leaving the room in near-complete darkness. John lay in his bed, writhing under the sheets. The medical machines surrounded him, the iv machine beeping against the rhythm of the heart monitor.

From the hall, the echoing sound of the soft piano piece Bach's Siciliano was broken by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A nurse entered into the room checking the machines, she then went to the windows and drew the shades.

The light streamed in and crossed Hammond's tired face. He winced and then opened his eyes.

"Nurse," he whispered to her, reaching his hand out.

"Nurse," he said slightly louder.

The nurse heard him this time and turned to him, taking his hand.

"Yes, sir?"

Hammond stared at her for a moment, then smiled lightly.

"Where are my grandchildren?"

"Oh, sir. Master Murphy is at work, and Miss Granger is at home."

"Yes," he said, trailing off.

The nurse smiled and squeezed his hand lightly. She went to place it back on the bed but he looked at her again.

"I have to see it finished."

"What was that sir?"

"I have to see it completed. My dream," he said, drifting to sleep, "my world."

He rolled over to his side, and mumbled under his breath.

"My son."

* * *

James sipped his beer and then stowed it into holster next to the wheel. 

It was near midnight, and he and his wife had just returned to their private Yacht moor in the San Diego harbor, having spent the day tanning and boozing in international waters off the west coast. James was a wealthy realtor. His figure was less than desireable: a large beer belley, balding couf, with an awkward gate. His demenor was that of a king more than a man. All of this would turn most women away, but his money more than made up for it.

He felt his wifes silicone brests against press heavily against his back, as she leaned in for a drunken kiss.

"Mmmm," she moaned, gropeing her husband's chest hair.

"Honey," she whimpered, "I'm tired. Lets just sleep here in the boat, hmm?"

"Mariam," he groaned, unhappily.

"What,"she said, leaning off of him.

"You are always like this! You never want to have any fun! You have the big Yacht, the big house, the big life, and my big breasts and all you care about is work, work, work," she snapped, snottily, rubbing her hands angrily across her chest.

"Mariam, you have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh yes I do," she exclaimed, leaning forward awkwardly and then catching herself on another railing.

A light siren pierced the air, catching James' attention. In the distance over the bay, he could heard it clearly. The hollow sound confused him as did the direction it came from. He knw of nothing out in that direction of the bay, except a large, strange amphitheater which had been sitting there, unused, since he moved to San Diego.

"Now you're ignoring me! Great!" she snapped, nearly tripping on the stairs to get down to the guest area.

"I'm not ignoring you, Mariam! I have work. You've already made me miss too many days as it is. Be glad they even let me take today off for you!" he snapped, following her down the stairs.

Mariam giggled and ran into the darkened living area, jumping onto the couch. Only the faint light from the docks shone through the slightly tinted windows, outlining Mariams shapely figure.

"What about me," she pleaded, like a sad puppy.

"I gave you everything you wanted, Mariam, isn't that enough?"

"Nope," she poked, motioning for her husband to join her.

James walked captiously over to her and leaned up against her to kiss her. They embraced and began to make out, passionately.

Something caught James' eye. He looked up and noticed off in the distance, the large amphitheater brightly lit.

"The hell?" he said, standing promptly.

"What is it?" Mariam asked, turning around.

"Have they finished building that thing," she asked, seeing what her husband was staring towards.

"It's been there for ages," she remarked, annoyed.

"I don't know. It doesn't look finished. Its been there since I got my promotion, nearly thirteen years ago. I didn't think it was even in use anymore."

"Maybe someone bought it. Just come over here," Mariam pleaded.

James walked away from the window, cautiously.

"I don't know, I would have heard about it," he remarked, rejoining his wife in their embrace.

A few moments latter, the light turned off.

"That's better," he said, leaning up.

Through the window, he could see the outline of a face. The light had not been turned off: it was being blocked.

He jumped from his wife and stepped backwards. The shape moved in the light, tilting its head and staring into the window.

His wife sat up.

"What is the matter with you," she shouted, turning to look out the window.

The shape contorted, opening it's mouth wide, and with rows of teeth visible in the bright silhouette, let out a piercing scream that intertwined with Mariaam's and James' screams, in a cacophony of hell and immanent death.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

**A Dream Deferred**

The gripping chill of a New York winter met Alan Grant with a shock. He left his hotel, hands forced deep in the long overcoats' pockets, and walked to the limo waiting in the street.

A man in his middle forties, dressed in a business suit draped over by a long overcoat exited the limo smiling.

"Dr. Grant!" he greated.

"Chancellor Hilman. A pleasure," Alan responded, unearthing one hand for a brief handshake.

"You ready?" Chancellor Hilman asked enthusiastically.

"As much as one man can be, John," Alan replied getting into the limo.

Since the San Diego incident and the discovering of the "Dinosaur Islands," a large amount of public outcry for some sort of decision regarding the islands lit up a political firestorm with politicians requesting special trips to be made to the island to view the animals, and various groups voicing their concerns. Everyone felt they had claim to the animals either to see them, save them, hunt them, or exterminate them.

All those who'd been to the island were under a gag orders not to speak of what they saw, including Alan. But in recent years, debate at the UN had been brought to a stand still over how exactly to deal with the islands. Many feared the animals but an equal amount feared losing them to conservative opposition.

Thus, the UN brought in a special session of the Security Council, creating the first debate on Re-animated Organisms ever. The meetings had lasted a week now, televised on C-SPAN 2. Many news companies were carrying the story, with correspondents out on location outside the UN building.

"So Alan, how are the accommodations?" John asked.

"A little over the top for my taste, but you people know how to live in style."

"So we do." John smiled.

Alan could sense the amount of pride in John's voice and was slightly amused. Chancellor John Hilman was the typical politician: rich, sharp, quick witted, and self serving.

Alan remembered the first time he met Chancellor Hilman five years ago on the helicopter as they left Isla Sorna.

"Dr. Grant! We finally meet in person." he recalled John saying.

"Yes. And you are?"

"John Hilman, Chancellor for the United States of America. I represent home, Dr. Grant. Our office got a call from a friend of yours, Dr. Sattler about 5 hours ago. She alerted us to your situation here. Threw the office into an uproar!"

"She has a way of doing that," Alan laughed awkwardly.

"Well, it's good to see you're in good spirits. How are they?" he asked, nodding towards the Kirby's.

"Alive, which is more than I can say for the others-"

"Others?"

"There were several, yes," Grant answered painfully.

"You realize this is a serious violation of the agreements established between the U.S. and the Costa Rican governments? It's going to be a while before this whole matter is resolved. If you work with us, we'll do our best to avoid any serious penalization."

He had been right, of course. Chancellor Hilman was able to spare them the brunt of the attack, instead shifting the blame from the Kirby's to the deceased pilot, who lay scapegoat for "going off course", along with the Costa Rican Government for inadequate patrolling of a protected zone.  
"Have you been watching the news?" Hilman asked.

Grant leaned back into his seat. He could sense where this was going.

"Yes, John. I have."

"And what do you think?"

Alan hesitated, contemplating what exactly to say.

"Well," he began, tapping his thumb on the windowsill, "I can't say that I'm not at all surprised. We knew they would come to this conclusion at some point–"

"Yes," John interrupted, "but do you think this would be the most appropriate step after what you've been quoted as saying."

Alan mouth contorted slightly, trying to remember back to what exactly he'd said.

"John, the islands are a damn nuisance. They shouldn't be here. The UN is on the right track–their decision shouldn't be swayed by whatever it is you think I said–"

"They are a gift," Hilman broke in again, after having fumbled through some papers.

"The animals are a once in a lifetime chance to study what could have been–"

"Hear that? What 'could' have been–" Alan interjected.

"–what the animals may have been like–"

"Again," Alan said, pointing his finger at John decisivly, "may have been lik–"

"–and should be examined fully."

There was a moment of silence. Alan didn't respond, his finger still pointing at John, mouth poised for rebuttal. Instead, he relaxed back into his seat and sighed.

"You said you were ready?" John asked, smiling lightly.

"You know," Alan began, "I stared velociraptor square in the face and even that doesn't compare to you. At least with them you know where the attack is coming form."

John Hilman smiled and sat back in his seat beaming.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Despite Alan's seemingly corse front, a troubled mind lingered. At night before he'd sleep, he would close his eyes and remember the first time he'd seen a dinosaur. His first words "It's a dinosaur." Even after eight years, seeing them again made him feel the rush of exhilaration of a child. The words "Oh my God, I'd forgotten," issued from his mouth without any thought. Secretly, he desired to see them again. His heart had changed. He feared that the most.

* * *

"Good afternoon. I am Dr. Alan Grant. I have come before this council today to speak from my knowledge as a scientist and as a survivor of the Island Chain in question."  
Outstretched before Alan lay the UN Security Council, assembled specifically to meet the possible threat of Los Cinco Muertes. Alan sat in one of the chairs allocated for the United States. Before him lay the semi-circle table, with a rectangle table in the center. to the left lay the gallery where not a chair was empty. Television cameras were moving around in the distance, focusing on him. 

The mediator then spoke.

"Dr. Grant is with us today to help us in our decision making. He is an experienced archeologist and also has been to Isla Sorna. I will open the floor to questions. Raise your hand and I will acknowledge you in the order the hands are received."

The mediator then nodded to Alan, who took a last glimpse at Chancellor Hilman, who smiled and nodded as well.

From around the table hands flew up immediately.

"The chair recognizes Costa Rica."

The man leaned forward, pointing his finger angrily at Dr. Grant and began yelling in Spanish. Dr. Grant looked around confused until the translator in his ear began to speak.

"The Costa Rican Government forever condemns these islands! Many of my country's people have died from these animals and I will not rest until these islands are gone for good!"

With that, the man relaxed back into his seat. Many hands continued to be raised and the mediator spoke again.

"The Chair recognizes China."

"Good morning Dr. Grant," the Chairman spoke in English, then continuing in Mandarin.

"China is wondering: How do you feel presently about the animals that inhabit the island. I have heard multiple accounts of what happened. Dr. Malcolm's version, your book, but from my understanding, you were asked to give a full account of what happened but were given a gag order by InGen. Are you familiar with this account?"

Alan wasn't sure how to answer. He'd been sworn to secrecy after the incident. He looked to John for some answer, only to be confronted with a smile. John stared for a moment, but then leaned in.

"We used an executive order to unseal your secret, sworn testimony. We've all read it. You can answer."

Alan hesitated, wincing at the thought that his testimony from the first incident had been unsealed. Sure, he'd been asked to write a book after the San Diego incident, when his involvement with InGen and InGen's true purpose had been exposed, but this was different. That book was a farce. InGen had gotten wind of the possible disclosure and reminded Alan of his "contractual obligations," and that any book about what actually happened would be in breach of it.

"The Death of Dreams" as Alan called his book, was mostly fictional, telling a slightly more crude story that his publisher asked him to write. He and a few others crawling through velociraptor tunnels underground and depicting the t-rex with an opposable tongue with other such nonsense.

This was different: this was really what happened. That scared him the most.

With much hesitation, Alan leaned into the mic and responded.

"Yes, I know of these accounts."

"I have a transcript of your sworn testimony nearly eight years ago. It says here that when asked about the animals, your only statement was 'They are genetically created monsters.' Does this view still hold true?"

"I believe that we created them. We need to take responsibility for them, whatever they are. As to whether they are monsters, in my experience I found that for the most part, the animals behaved how we would expect them to, but only observation could truly answer that--"

Chancellor John Hilman tugged on Alan's shoulder and pulled him away from the microphone.

"Dr. Grant. You just said, on record, that you believe only observation can answer the real question here: are the animals authentic. Correct?"

Dr. Grant moved slightly uncomfortably towards the microphone and spoke.

"Yes. Or maybe someone close to making them. Dr. Wu might know, but-"

"Mediator. I'd like to call for a short recess in order to prepare for a closed session," John Hillman interrupted again.

"I need a second to move for a motion for a closed session."

"I will second," Germany's Chancellor spoke.

"I will read a list of chancellors, reply 'yay' or 'nay' to a closed session."

* * *

"It's been a catastrophe! The entire Eastern shore has been put into ruins. We have not seen a disaster like this for many years," Grant watched the TV in the cafeteria as the Indian Chancellor spoke passionately into the multitude of microphones stationed on his podium.  
Two hours had passed since the closed session had cleared the gallery and turned off the cameras. Apparently even that wasn't going well. In the small time since then, reports of an earthquake in the middle of the Indian Ocean that had brought about a catastrophic tsunami, hitting India hard began to flood in. The meeting must have been canceled, Alan thought, but no one had come to find him yet so he remained where he'd been left. 

"Hearings that were taking place today at the UN were brought short when news of the disaster struck. The UN had been in some quiet deliberation over the fate of the fabled 'Dinosaur Islands,' a decision that seems even less sure to be made than before," the news anchor spoke. The footage then cut to the Indian Chancellor speaking again.

"It outrages me when this committee's power is misused. Instead of deciding how much aid we can send to my country's people who are dying, we are instead deliberating over what to do about some unimportant island chain on the other side of the world that shouldn't exist! We should be focusing on the here and the now, and the people alive who need our--"

Alan stepped down from a chair, having sucessfully turned the tv off.

Placing the chair back underneath its table, Alan walked around the room, trying to find something to do. His stomach growled as he walked by the snack machine.

"M&M's or Skittles," he pondered, staring at the candy behind the glass. He'd decided to get a snack, stuck with only a few dollars, not enough to get anything of real interest.

He inserted the dollar. The machine started to whirr, but spit the dollar back out.

"I hate machines."

"Dr. Grant," called a voice from the hall.

"Dr. Grant," again called the voice of John Hilman, as he knocked on the window and entered the cafeteria.

"Thank you again for your testimony in there today. It may have been brief but it was just the thing!" Hilman finished, shaking Alan's hand.

Alan looked at Chancellor Hilman unconvinced.

"Just the thing to what?" he asked.

"Oh, you know," Hilman stalled, taking Alan's dollar, rubbing it on the corner of the machine and reinserting it.

"You said it yourself! You'd want to investigate the animals further! That was something that John Hammond brought you on board to do all those years ago, and now, thirteen years latter, you're going to be able to do it!"

Alan took a step back not sure what had just transpired.

"Don't you see? You're going back. M&M's or skittles?"

There was a moment of silence, then John spoke again.

"The UN has given me two months to put together a mission to the island chain. We are going to create two teams–oh! I'll tell you all about it on the car-ride back."

Alan didn't respond. He continued to stare at Chancellor Hilman in slight disbelief. Part of him was happy to hear the news, another part, appalled.

"But what about aid to India? How are you going to–"

"Don't worry Alan! We know what we're doing. There will be aid sent to India within forty-eight hours."

Alan still looked at Hilman, almost in shock, thinking only of the last attempts to visit the islands.

"Alan! Don't worry. We've done our homework! The last mission set up by that low-life of a company, InGen, will pale in comparison to what we have planned. And you are going to help me decide who gets to go. Isn't that great?"

There was a pause.

"M&M's," Hilman stated.

"You seem more like an M&M's kind of guy to me."

Alan nodded, leaned over and retrieved the M&M's from the machine, saying something under his breath.

"What was that Al?"

Alan stood upright, opened his M&M's and started to walk away.

"You're going with me."

* * *

The gentle waves of a moonless night rocked the small fishing boat in a glassy sea. Juan, a man in his early twenties walked away from the railing and entered the galley. His face, distorted in the starlight, writhed with discontent.  
He walked back to the galley and walked through the door. 

"Hey! You returned!" spoke a grizzly man, positioned in the corner of a dinette, vodka bottle and shot glass in hand.

Juan walked over to his father, attempting to remove the bottle from him to no avail.

"Don't you think it's a little dangerous being drunk in these waters?"

"No," the father said, swashing his hand through the air, taking another shot.

"We're far from that place," he winced.

Juan sat down next to his father, sliding the bottle infront of himself.

"But don't you remember last time–"

"I remember boy!" his father snapped, retrieving his precious drink.

"I killed that beast! Remember! I–I drowned it. Gone. Bottom of the sea."

Joan looked on unconvinced of his fathers optimism.

"You remember it boy! You remember it!" his father beckoned to his son's anxious face.

"Retrieved the nets. Woke it up is what we did."

"Father–"

"No!" his father exclaimed, standing up from the bench.

"It was after the fish we were catching! The huge fish we can only catch here in these waters. These," his father leaned over the table "enchanted waters."

It was true: the waters around the aptly named "Five Deaths" were restricted and because of that, the fish that lived in them grow to enormous sizes. Back at the town market, any fisherman daring enough to go near enough to the islands to capture fish that big would make an enormous profit.

"But at what cost, father!" Juan broke in.

"Oh! You worry too much. We are fine–remember how I detached the nets, as is snapped at me with its jaws. It wanted me!"

Juan looked away, trying not to remember.

"As I recall it was I who cut the line," Juan said grudgingly.

In that moment, the serenity of the sea was broken by an unearthly wailing.

The two looked at each-other and Juan ran out onto the deck, his father hobbling behind.

The night was deceivingly calm. Not a sound; not a whisper of breeze: dead.

The two ran from railing to railing, looking down at the sea and out towards the dark horizon, that only now was beginning to cloud over with a blanket of fog.

Again, the sound echoed sharply through the night. A mixture of a siren and something else: something not of this earth.

Juan began to panic. The animal from his dreams, from that night long ago, haunted him, and it was coming for them. If they were attacked, they couldn't call for help. and he knew if they were found–alive--in these waters, they would be locked away forever. The only other option was being found dead, and Juan did not want to contemplate that.

Without thinking, Juan ran to the back of the boat and began to retrieve the net they'd been dragging. They were leaving, and now.

The turbine kicked on and broke the silence. Juan looked off to sea, straining to see anything in the dark.

The sound of rushing water grew louder and louder. Something was coming. Another roar pierced the night, frightening Juan's father, who fell to his knees next to the railing.

He ran for the helm but in his drunken stupor tripped and fell. Juan jumped past him and spun the wheel. They both looked over board as the large, looming shape came straight for them. A roar, no, a horn broke the air, and the ship that was barreling toward their boat sailed past them, knocking their boat away in its wake.

The two fumbled to their feet. Juan grabbed a flashlight and shone it onto the ship. No registry, no name. Nothing to say what it was.

Maybe it's a ghost ship, he thought.

He passed the beam of light over the deck. There was a frighteningly high pitched shriek and a pounding from a crate on the deck. Printed on the side was one word:

BioSyn

* * *

"Mommy!" squealed David, running up to the front door from the living room window. "Oh, hello David! How's Mommy's little boy?" Ellie asked, catching her boy in outstretched arms, running her hand through his hair.  
"Hey mom.," Charlie interrupted from the stairs, now almost 9. His hair, blond like his mothers, styled in the bowl-cut. He smiled at her, gave his mother a quick hug, and walked into the living room. 

Ellie picked up Alan's bag and started walking towards the stairs.

"Where's Dad?" she questioned Charlie.

"I'm over here," came the voice of Mark from the kitchen.

"I started dinner."

Ellie motioned for Alan to go sit in the living room while she brought his bags upstairs and he did so hesitantly, wanting to make sure she didn't want his help.

Ellie had bugged Alan for years about how little he visited, insisting he stay with them. With much hesitation, Alan conceded but that he would only stay the night.

"Oh, common' Al! D.C. living is expensive. It'll be free if you just stay over out my house. We have a spare bedroom. One night at any hotel will cost you a bundle. Besides, my neighborhood is safe. You can't say that about most D.C. motels!"

He had protested but Ellie was a very persuasive woman. Even all those years ago when they were a team together. Ellie wasn't just a great paleontologist; she also got the funding.

"Alright, but only for the night, Ellie. I have a plane to catch in the morning back to Montana."

"Great! You don't think I could persuade you to stay an extra day, hmm? I can get them to move the ticket to the next day," Ellie teased pleadingly.

"Two days, no more," Alan agreed, with much hesitation.

"Come to teach me more about dinosaurs?" Charlie asked, turning around on the couch.

Alan looked down at the boy slightly puzzled.

"You-"

"–Remembered? Nah. But it made my mom happy. She kept telling me the story so I couldn't forget it if I wanted to. She was so glad you came."

Alan smirked staring out the window. Charlie turned back around to watch tv again.

* * *

"So, Dr. Grant," Mark began, cutting into his pork chops, "What do you do now–now that people don't care about fossils anymore?"  
"On the contrary," Alan started, "there are people who, like me, care about the dinosaur fossils: the problem is finding them." 

The group laughed. David started to mash his pees into a pulp, ocassionally grabbing one he'd missed and smashing it into his mouth. Charlie watched the grownups wide-eyed, from face to face. He caught his mothers eyes and she made a funny face, making him smile. Alan just looked on, amused.

"I actually have started working at the Museum–of the Rockies. It helps fund my digs every summer or so."

"Still keeping to your old habits," Ellie said, pulling out of her funny face, laughing. Alan smiled.

Alan had to admit: he did miss her. He had always loved Ellie but after Isla Nublar, they both had changed, like people do after they return from war. Alan still wanted to work with the bones and Ellie couldn't stand the site of them. All she saw was the potential: the potential that money and ambition had to pervert the bones into creatures that nearly took her life. She wanted nothing to do with them anymore and their relationship began to fall apart. They lived separate lives and eventually broke up. He said she had changed; she said he hadn't.

* * *

"Ellie, I need to ask you something," Alan began, leaning back into the sofa in the living room after dinner.  
Mark shooed the boys up the stairs behind them, as they finished saying goodnight to Alan. 

"Shoot Alan. Anything."

"I was asked to go to the U.N. the other day: that's why I was in New York. They wanted me to talk about the islands; how safe they were and such. I think something is up. I've been told they are planning an expedition."

"Wow, Alan. That's big. I'm surprised it wasn't on the news. What did you tell them?"

"See what I mean! They're being very secretive about the mission! I told them that the islands were unique and should be preserved but I didn't know they were planning to send people there! If I'd known that I would have said bomb the damn things. The animals are too dangerous to live with man, and for a team to go there and document it–Why, you remember what happened to Ian?"

"Yes, he told me. I called him after I saw on the news about the San Diego incident. He told me what had happened. I was glad he was alright. But going back, again?"

Alan noticed it then, the thing that had probably upset him the most all those years ago: Ian. He had a charm with women and it had overtaken Ellie. After they left on the helicopter, they were detained for three months and in that time Ian had nearly died from his wound and come back from the dead. His suffering caught Ellie's maternal eye, building on that fascination she had developed for him: a fascination that tore Alan apart.

"Yes, well, um," Alan stammered, attempting to regain footing in the conversation.

Charlie snuck back downstairs and leaned around the wall, listening.

"You see, I want you to promise me if they call you, you'll say no. I don't want you going ever again. I've seen the new island with my own eyes: it's nothing like the old one. These are wild and untamed dinosaurs: Hell on Earth. I don't want you to ever go there. Promise me, Ellie."

Ellie sat for a moment. Charlie's eyes lit up.

Ellie reached out and took Alan's hand and gazed into his eyes.

"I promise."

* * *

The streets were muddy and cluttered with debris. Buildings, once several stories high, lay almost completely leveled. The frothy sea roared against the ruins of house-boats and docks, and anguished voices filled the air.  
Trainers sat upon their elephants, dragging rocks and other debris down the street. In the middle of the square sat a large cargo vessel basking in the dry sun, brought ashore by the massive tsunami. Two days had passed since one of the largest disasters in the Indian Ocean struck, and very little aid had arrived. 

A helicoptor roared over head. Nick Van Owen and a team of aid workers from the Red Cross and the UN surveyed the area.

"Take her down there," motioned the man in charge of the team, pointing to a clearing not far from the village. The Red-Cross team filed out of the helicoptor. Nick jumped out, camera hanging around his neck and a med-kit in hand.

This area was lucky. Further up shore, a town that lay directly in step with the wave's trajectory no longer existed; washed away in the middle of the night when the great wave first struck.

The group hurried towards the large medical tent. The leader of the group met up with one of the local officials, who pointed up the street, and gave out orders.

Nick took his camera to his eye again, taking photos of the massive grounded cargo vessel. The ship lay tilted to one side, leaning against a pile of debris. Walking closer, he noticed that the cargo door lay open, with the insides strewn across the ground: poles, boxes, and tons of wooden crates.

"Nick!" yelled a girl from behind.

He turned around toward the voice. A woman in her twenties ran towards him.

"They said that when you're finished here, they'd like you to head up to the other town to check out if anyone needs help," spoke Erin.

Erin, with her long, curly red hair flowing in the slight breeze, was a young woman at 22. She wasn't the brightest person in the world, but gave of herself very deeply, spending most of her adult life as an aid worker for the Red-Cross.

"Will do."

"Isn't that amazing," she added, shielding her eyes from the intense sun.

Nick continued to walk around the boat, occasionally glancing down toward the ground to find his footing.

"I'd probably say 'tragic.'"

"Any idea what was in the ship?" She asked, not far behind.

"No idea. There's a lot of what look like fruit crates, but no fruit.. I'm taking these more for the shock value. You don't see this everyday-Hell, you don't see this ever!"

He continued to shimmy through the rubble, snapping photos. He moved further down the pile until he saw a bike under some boards.

"I'm gonna head to the town, all right," he questioned, lifting the boards off the bike and checking its tires.

Erin looked down at him, crouched down to his level and responded.

"Yea, its just up the road."

"If anyone needs me, I've got my walkie."

Nick peddled up the road leaving Erin in his dust. She turned around and stared back up at the massive ship.

Nick drove deep into the forest, which had taken a beating too. You could see the height of the wave etched into the mountain jungle. The higher up the hill he rode the more trees still remained upright until he got above the damage line and into dense jungle.

Nick slowed his peddling now as the ground leveled out. Despite being well built, the speedy trip uphill had an effect on him: as did Erin. He liked the girl but she got kinda weird around him: almost airheaded. He use to like that, but now he just couldn't stand it. It reminded him of back when he–

Suddenly, a man covered in blood, clothing dangling from his body, ran across the road startling Nick. Nick's foot slipped and the bike pivoted to a rapid stop, almost falling to the ground.

The man screamed something into Nick's face, pointing into the forest behind him and then ran into the forest on the other side of the road, panting.

"Hey! Wait!" Nick yelled at the man.

"Hey stop! Come back! I can help you!"

He dropped the bike into the raod, and ran off after the man. The jungle hit his face like a hot towel; wet leaves wiping past his face while branches scratched his arms and legs.

"Hey! Sir!" Nick continued to yell. He reached down to his belt for his walkie-talkie but it was gone. He'd lost it somewhere, but that wasn't important now.

He could hear the frantic ramblings of the man in front of him. He tried keeping up, fighting through the jungle.

He came to the edge of the dense foliage at the bank of a rocky stream, the jungle starting again on the other side.

The whimpers of the man had gone silent along with the entire forest. Not a sound was heard.

Nick caught his breath and that's when he noticed the utter silence. The jungle had, in that moment, died. He instinctively crouched down behind a bush, taking out his camera and pocket knife. He looked around slowly. The jungle was still threateningly silent.

There was a sour stench filling the air. He almost put his sleeve to his nose when the silence was broken by a gargling sound, and a faint breath.

A light purring came from the other side of the river. Nick looked through the bushes and could see a small palm frond being nudged. A head popped up but was obscured by the leaves. All he could see was the one eye staring right back at him.

Chills ran through his body as the yellow eye dilated and then fixated upon him. The stench had gone away and he knew now that he was up-wind, and whatever the animals was, it knew he was there.

The eye scoped his position out, and let out another purring noise.

Nick became tense, and went to step back. He pivoted his leg, eye still fixated on the predators eye. It blinked.

That's when it hit him. Something was familiar about the eye: something strange too. No predator blinked like that. It was almost–

RING!

Nick fell onto his back, and a caw yelped from the opposing bank. Birds flew out of the branches and into the distance. Standing back up, he answered his phone.

"Hiya Nick. Where's your walkie," spoke the female voice.

He looked toward the bush, but the animal had gone, leaving a trail of swaying forest behind it.

"What Erin?"

"We've been trying to reach you. Some people are here to see you. They say they're from the UN. They say they need to talk to you."

Nick walked over to where the animal had been. The man he'd been following lay motionless, bleeding into the sand. Nick moved his fingers across the obscure tracks, unsatisfied.

"Did they say why?"

"They say they can only talk to you. It seems important."

Nick checked the mans pulse. He was dead. Disgruntled, Nick stood up.

"I'll be right there."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Of Promises and Dreams**

The wooden door to the meeting room crept open and a young man stuck his head out.

"They're ready for you, Mr. Hammond."

"Splendid," Hammond responded, standing promptly, proudly entering the room unaided.

In front of Hammond lay a table of twenty or so men in business suits. Their eyes moved up from the packets that lay before them and onto Hammond who was now accompanied by a young Asian man.

"Good evening, gentlemen. My name is John Hammond. This is my partner in this venture, Dr. Wu, the world famous geneticist. Helped map the human genome. We asked you here to talk to you today about the proposal of a life time–the one that you all have a copy of. I trust you've all had a chance to look through Proposal CPSD by now. Are there any questions before we begin?"

A few of the investors fidgeted in their seats, anxious or bored, John couldn't tell which. A hand rose from the back.

"Yes, you sir in the back."

The man in his late twenties leaned forward, running his hand through his full head of hair, and began to speak.

"Mr. Hammond is it? I represent the interests of a BioGenetics company interested in helping you with your proposal. We are curious though, where did you get the viable material?"

"Well, good sir," Hammond began, "that's the trick isn't it Mr-"

"Dodgeson."

"Dodgeson," Hammond smiled. He could tell he liked this mans ingenuity. Hammond could tell instantly about people in this way.

"You see, if I tell you that, what's to stop you from doing it yourself?"

"If it were only that easy, My. Hammond."

The group chuckled and Hammond motioned for Wu to take the lead.

"Well, Mr. Dodgeson, our process is quite simple. We have already leased an island off the coast of Costa Rica in which Hammond Construction has begun building a facility in which we plan to manufacture the animals and study them in a natural environment–to aid our understanding of the animals. Initial yields will be low, hence why we have the proposal before you. We plan to build a Cretaceous Park in San Diego. This facility will be small, and limited, but it will ultimately be the starting point of a world wide phenomenon that you are being given the chance to become involved in."

The group seemed impressed but were still obviously cautious.

"You asked how we got the viable material. At the moment, that information is still classified."

The investors fidgeted. One raised his hand with some obvious distrust in his eye.

"Mr. Hammond, you want us to believe that you can do this, yet you present us with no proof?"

Hammond's face contorted into a smile that twitched with anticipation.

"Timmy," Hammond called out.

From the hall entered a small boy of four to five. Decked out in complete Jurassic Park attire, Tim Murphy entered the room cradling a pillow in his arms.

"What's that you've got for us, there?" Hammond asked, getting down on one knee.

"A Dinosaur," Timmy replied, turning to the investors.

Sure enough, there it lay: she laid to be more exact.

"What is it, Timmy?"

"It's a newborn Velociraptor antirrhopus ."

A squeak issued from the pillow as the new born rolled to the side, lifting its head into view.

Everyone in the room stood to get a better look.

The dinosaur, which had been lying in a fetal position, stretched out upon the pillow, looking around, squawking at the group.

Hammond smiled, fiendishly, then, wiping it from his face began to speak.

"Any questions?"

Within the hour, Hammond and Wu had convinced nearly all the investors in the room: Cray, Apple Computers, Silicon Graphics, Nishihara, SVS, Jeep, and Ford had all signed off as donors of equipment and limited investors to help start out the company.

Hammond shook the hands of all the investors as they left the office, thanking them for their time. Finally, one man walked up to him.

"Mr. Hammond, I was thoroughly impressed by your well thought out proposal and study. I am curious. Do you have a genetics company to work for you?"

John turned to Wu, patting him on the shoulder.

"This is my Genetics Company. He and his team have done wonders for me in the past several years. We've nearly completely replicated the first pure batch of DNA."

"So what we saw today? Was it a dinosaur?"

"Yes, oh yes." John quickly interjected.

"But," Wu hesitated, "it wasn't pure. It was only about 60 pure genetic material. It will survive another week or so before it dies."

"I see. And how far are you from finishing."

Hammond's smile faded and he took a step back.

"Well," Wu began, "another sixteen months."

The elderly man looked on with slight delight.

"What if I told you I own a small genetics company that I've been trying to sell for a year or two now."

Hammond looked to Wu who stared on towards the man curiously.

"Just think, you'd have an entire company working at your disposal."

Mr. Hammond's face lit up with glee. He'd wanted to expand the genetics division but had hesitated in creating his own company.

"It's called BioGen. Perhaps we could talk further about this over dinner?" The man asked. Hammond smiled and replied.

"Of course!"

Several months and many dinners latter, Hammond finally bought out BioGen, changing the name to InGen. InGen quickly became the leading Genetics company in the world, taking large contracts from several large drug companies while maintaining the pandora secret dream of Hammond: to build a Dinosaur park.

The dream of Hammonds was sparked in that moment. The spark then became a fire that spread. Cretacious Park: San Diego, mid consctrution, was discontinued and Isla Nublar was purchased and the name changed to Jurassic Park. Hammond poured massive amount of resources into the venture, sparing no expence.

The park was themed to attract children of all ages. Hammond's dream was to fill the park with wide-eyed tourists, igniting the fire in their own imaginations as it had in his own.

* * *

"Mr. Nesky will see you now, Chancellor," the desk clerk announced, poking her head out of InGen's CEO's office.

"Thank you, madam," Chancellor John Hillman said, standing from his chair, briefcase in hand.

The original accident on Isla Nublar put InGen in a terrible financial status. Between multiple lawsuits, payoffs, and the strangely high destruction costs of the island, InGen had very little money and very little buying power. This caused great fear in the corporation towards a possible sellout to BioSyn, InGen's only true competitor in those years, but to the great surprise of InGen, BioSyn suffered from great losses in that time attributed to a loss of interest by investors and as some leaked, a get rich quick scheme that never paid.

After an attempt made by the newly elected CEO Peter Ludlow came back with more loss than the company could handle–not to mention lawsuits of all kinds because of the infamous 'San Diego Incident'–the company quickly filed for Chapter 11 reorganization. The UN then stepped in and took joint ownership of InGen's assets, sharing responsibility with the company for the well being of the islands claiming that the animals were "truly unique and owned by the entire world." InGen reorganized and changed its direction more towards agricultural development, which was then sold, mostly to the Costa Rican government which had born the brunt of InGen's destructive power.

After Peter Ludlows' death, the power of the company fell like burning embers around the investors desk until it landed in the lap of one of the toughest skinned men alive: Richard Nesky.

Nesky had always been second in command and after the fall of Nublar, his persuit of the office drove him nearly to the brink. He headed the decomission of Nublar, which again, drew large critisim for it's heafty price tag.

The one thing that kept Nesky around was that he was charmer. His good looks and positive attitude won many an investor over. Those who knew him personally knew he was a dark man, capable of extreme power. Closed doors and secrets fed the rhumors. Fear is what kept him in office. And he liked it that way.

"Chancellor Hilman, what a pleasant surprise! How are you doing today," Richard asked, extending his hand fourth from behind his desk.

"I'm doing well, thank you Mr. Nesky–"

"Please: Richard will do. Now, may I get you something to drink?" he asked, motioning to the cabinet.

"Just a cup of tea please–"

"Jenna!" Richard yelled into the speaker phone on his desk.

"Yes, Mr. Nesky?"

"Get Mr. Hilman a tea, pronto."

"Right away, Mr. Nesky."

"Ah," Richard sighed leaning back into his padded leather chair.

"Now, Chancellor, why is it that you grace me with your presence?"

John moved forward in his chair, opened his briefcase on his lap and pulled out a packet of paper and a stapled document.

"As you know, Mr. Nesky, InGen has been granted permission to stay in business for the soul purpose of protecting the islands and repaying your debt through profits made in your non-genetic ventures. You know as well as I do how many companies would have given anything to get those islands if InGen had lost the ownership over them. I have some news from the UN for you about what will be going on within the next month."

Nesky shifted in his chair uneasily but continues to rock slowly back and fourth with his hands folded neatly in front of him.

"The UN took a vote three days ago and this vote ensures the islands temporary protection."

"Temporary?" Richard asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, temporary. The UN has also decided that to further ascertain the safety of the island chain, an investigative team is to be sent to the islands. Its job will be to assess the safety of these islands and the threat they pose to the world ecosystem not to mention human population. This expedition, though, as agreed upon in a contract signed by InGen almost five years ago, states that any activity dealing with the islands will not entirely be funded by the UN; but rather, be co-funded by InGen. Or," John hesitated, "the UN will receive in full the payment of debt, by InGen."

Richards face had continued to contort from a calm, orderly look, to a new, infuriated grimace.

"Well," he began sharply, "this is an odd turn in events. As you are aware, you will get full cooperation from InGen and it's subsidiaries. Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

John could sense the anger in Richard and knew the chat was over.

"No, Mr. Nesky. That will be quite alright for now. I will leave you with the documentation on the expedition: expenses, equipment, personnel, etc. And also a copy of the current InGen stock. Study them well, Mr. Nesky. The UN is not to be toyed with."

"Thank you Chancellor. I will be sure to hand these over to the board. I will see you out."

With that, the two men walked to the door. The door opened and Jenna walked in with a cup of tea.

Richard escorted John to the now open door. They shook hands and John exited the room, taking a quick sip of tea. Jenna quickly followed closing the door.

* * *

"Hurricane Miriam is now moving south-west along the coast of Costa Rica," the tv anchorman said, waving his hand over a 3D map generated behind him with a fan off screen blowing his comb-over hair around in a torrent.

"Darn special effect," Cody Livingston stated, taking his feet off the table and leaning toward the tv to turn it off. Cody was a greying haired man of nearly fifty. He worked in the main office of the Costa Rican Coast Guard and had been working there for nearly twenty years. In that time he'd seen everything in the book. Everything from freak waterspouts to shark attacks. Once he even had to deal with a hysterical fisherman screaming over the radio that he'd caught a monster.

"Cody, we've got trouble," interrupted Manuel, Cody's assistant with his head popped in the door.

"About ten minuets ago we got a hail from a large cargo vessel who's engines mysteriously cut out," he said, walking Cody into a room bustling with people. He opened the drawer of his desk and unwrapped a map.

"This is where the hurricane is right now," he said pointing to an area west of Costa Rica, over the Pacific Ocean.

"This is where they are. With their engines out, all we can do is wait and hope that they don't run a ground."

"Get a helicopter ready. I want a team out there as soon as possible. I want some boats in the area incase we need backup and incase they decide to abandon ship. Suit up people."

Thirty minuets latter, the group was in the helicopter and heading towards the boat's last known coordinates. The mood was tense. Sea rescues, especially during a hurricane were notoriously dangerous. And if the ship had grounded then finding survivors quickly would be a top priority.

"Sir," the pilot yelled, "we can't contact the boat and we're almost on top of her."

"We may be too late," Manuel yelled in Cody's ear.

Outside the wind was howling in the torrential rain. Everyone had to yell just to be heard over the roar of the rain pounding against the metal shell of the helicopter.

The team looked out the window at the barely visible ocean below. The copter circled around two more times in slightly wider arcs.

"Head toward the shore line and follow it south," Cody yelled to the pilot.

"Yes sir," he responded, turning the helicopter to the left.

"There!" the captain yelled, pointing out into the fog.

The ship had grounded.

The waves crashed against the side of the boat, pushing it further into the jagged rocks of the ocean front. The hull had multiple punctures and the stern lay beached on the shore, the cargo bay doors ripped open and debris scattered in the surf.

The helicopter circled the ship, surveying the area. The ground around the stranded cargo vessel lay littered with crates and boxes, metal poles and wires: not entirely uncommon shipping equipment.

The helicopter slowly descended lower towards the deck to check for signs of life, then began to land on the deck. An updraft hit the helicopter lifting it back into the air towards the command tower of the cargo ship. The pilot swung the copter around and back, missing the tower. He tried to land the helicopter again when the air sank, dropping it onto the deck, where it bounced into the air again, only to be pummeled by a wave coming over the side of the ship.

"We can't land here," Cody yelled.

"Bring us out of the storm. We'll have to wait it out."

With a sigh, the crew looked back upon the vessel dying in the surf, its hull punctured numerous times and shrouded in a blanket of fog. It looked like a ghost ship and it probably was. The more Cody thought about the crash, the more he realized no one could have survived.

* * *

"Here I go," Alan stated, tapping his hand on the secretaries desk. 

Working as a tour guide at the Museum of the Rockies wasn't much but it was enough to have bought a small house, a truck, his meals, and a plane ticket back a day late: all the things a man could ask for.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, " Alan began, getting a large groups attention.

"Welcome to the Museum of the Rockies. My name is Alan, and I have the pleasure of being your tour guide today. I will be walking you through the museum and its exhibits. This way please," he finished, motioning off to the left.

"Welcome to the 'One Place Through all Time:' our planetarium. There are shows every hour which start off from the beginning of time and last through to our present state. Everything from the Big Bang to the formation of the planets to a present day meteor shower.

"This next exhibit is the 'Time Room.' Here, this clock you see is ticking. For times sake, we pretend that every second is a year, and every minuet is sixty years. Now, in order for the clock to tick enough times for it to be the Earth's age it would take–any guesses?"

The kids erupted into a cacophony of nonsense answers.

"20 minuets?"

"Two weeks?"

"A million-bagillion years!"

Alan laughed, "Close. Here's a hint: One hundred and forty-six years! It's that old!"

Several moans of awe could be heard even among the parents, who looked at eachother amused.

"We continue on through to the kinetic rolling ball. This represents the changes in seasons on the Earth such as food, water, and rock cycles. Next, over here we have land and life forms. You may stop in here and look at the intricate exhibits depicting life millions of years ago. There is a short movie on Pangea as well," he said pointing off to a room.

"And now to the exciting part. Some 68 million years ago, dinosaurs roamed the Earth. Some of these animals were mean, and some were nice. Some were swift and intelligent, and some were slow and dumb."

"Sir," a little boy asked, raising his hand.

"Yes?"

"Do we know what dinosaurs really looked like? Do they really look like the dinosaurs in this exhibit?"

Alan almost answered 'no, they would be jumping off their stands and eating you,,' when he realized he couldn't say that without blowing his cover.

"Well, son, dinosaurs died off millions of years ago. They didn't have cameras back then, and there were no, Lizard-arno Divinchi's back then either, so we don't know exactly what they look like–"

"What about those dinosaurs on the island?" an adult male voice called out from the back, jocularly.

"Those animals," Alan paused, taking in a breath and attempting to steady his voice, "are genetically recreated. They is no way to know how accurate those 'representations' of nature are or if they aren't just what the scientists wanted them to look like."

"But sir," the little boy who'd asked the question earlier said, tugging on Alan's pocket, "what if they wanted them to be real?"

Alan thought to himself for a second not knowing how to answer the child when another voice called out.

"Wait a minute! You're Dr. Alan Grant! You've been to the island! You know what they look like!" and all at once, the tour group went into an uproar of voices, all calling out for autographs and pictures.

"Please, please!" Alan yelled out to the group, trying to regain calm.

"Alan? What's going on?" a man from behind asked.

The crowd had a collective hush and parted out of his way.

"Dr. Horner. Good'ay. You seem to have caught me in the middle of an autograph session."

"I see. Ladies and Gentlemen, we ask that you refrain from asking Dr. Grant for his autograph till after the tour. It can be bothersome to the others here and can potentially get someone hurt. If you would like and if Dr. Grant wants to, he can give you one after the tour."

"Thank you, Jack," Alan sighed.

"No problem, Alan."

"There you are, have a good day now," Alan said, signing the last autograph. He finally was on break.

"Doris, Coffee–black," Alan announced to the desk clerk who nodded and poured him a cup.

He was tired from working all day. He'd been recognized by nine people in the last week alone with no good end in sight.

He was tired of being envied. Yes, he'd seen the animals, but he'd seen the death and destruction too. If those people could only know what it was like to be there, to be running for your life from something as cunning and intelligent as you, they would think twice.

"Alan," called a voice from down the hall.

"Billy? Hey! How are you?"

"I'm doing well, how are you doing?"

"Oh, just tired, Billy. Only society would envy people going to the worst place in the world."

"I know what you mean, Alan. I've had more girlfriends now than I did before," Billy laughed.

Alan drank his coffee and smiled lightly. It was good to see Billy again.

"So what have you been up to?" Alan asked.

"The usual: college, chicks...women," he said laughing.

"Still digging?"

"Not so much anymore, though I hope to start up again after the trip."

"Where to?"

"I thought you knew?"

Alan put the coffee cup down and looked at Billy strangely.

"What do you mean–"

"Aren't you going on it too?"

Alan's face contorted and his heart sank. Billy couldn't have been invited along. Alan wondered what skills Billy had that would make him a candidate.

"Why did they contact you?"

"Good to see I have your confidence, Alan," Billy jested as Alan looked on, frowning.

"Sarah Harding was asked to go but she couldn't fly out of Kenya in time–doing a documentary. Besides, Ian wouldn't let her. So she requested I be sent in her place. I took a course with her and she knew me through you. She knew that I could study the behavior using the methods she taught me. And besides, we aren't even going to land on the island."

"I still don't want you to go," Alan blurted out at Billy, stubbornly.

"Alan don't worry. We'll be fine."

"I don't approve of this at all. I can get you removed from this. Remember last time!"

"Of course I do, Alan. I still have some scars. But we aren't even going to be near them. We'll be safe in the helicopter."

"I still don't–" Alan trailed off. He looked passed Billy and out the windows where a white bearded man hobbled in with an entourage of nurses.

"Mr. Hammond?"

* * *

An hour of waiting and Cody's helicopter finally could land. By then, trucks had pulled up along the beach wrought with what looked like a militia: an assortment of men with guns. 

"My name is Cody Livingston," he announced to the man in charge as he got out of the helicopter.

"My group and I are here from the Coast Guard. We were called out to check on the situation."

The man stood for a moment showing in his face that he didn't understand.

Cody then realized he had spoken to the man in Spanish and not English.

"My apologies, Senor. My name is Cody. I'm here from the Coast Guard. We were called out earlier and were told your ship had engine problems. We believe that the storm may have caused the crash."

"Yes. Perhaps," the man answered almost muttering to himself.

"I'm sorry, and you are?"

"Muldoon. James Muldoon. I'm here from the company that owns the cargo and we are suppose to pick it up but it–"

"Well, Senor, I'm sorry but I can't let you do that for another twenty-four hours due to regulations. We need to clean and catagorize and do all the paperwork as well. Did any of the crew survive?"

Muldoon stood there silently and shook his head. His eyes never once met Cody's. James Muldoon was constantly looking around and past him.

"I understand," Muldoon started, "but there was live cargo on board. It needs to be taken out of here soon."

The wind began to pick up in the already dreary sky. The trees began to rustle and the rain, caught in the wind, began to fall harder. Cody noticed the face on James grow to a horrified, pale white.

"Senor, are you ok?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. I'll be fine. I want everyone off this beach though. Some of the live animals were dangerous. Until we have them all accounted for, I'd like to keep everyone out of harms way. I suggest you take your crew out of here: I can control the situation. We have legal advisors and some local government here. We can take it from here."

"I understand, Senor. What sort of animals were on board?"Cody asked, his interest peaked.

Muldoon hesitated, then looked at Cody in the eyes for the first time.

"Lions," he stated, taking a breath, "and tigers."

Cody nodded and called out to his men. It was apparent to Cody that they weren't going to be of any assistance.

The helicopter took off from the boat and began to ascent into the air. Cody watched as the men below began to scamper around. They were acting suspicious: especially Muldoon. Something was out of place. He looked down at the business card Muldoon had given him. In big letters it read:

**BioSyn**

Your Past and Future: Now

* * *

Richard stood at the head of the table lined with chairs of advisors and their staff. He had called for a last minute meeting of the investors to deal with the new demands of the UN. 

"I have called you here tonight to inform you of a new plan of the UN," Richard began.

"The island chain will now be under a scrutinizing investigation by a special task force designated by the UN."

There was a collective gasp as the investors shifted in their seats.

"We all planned for such a contingency, and plan B has now been put into effect. We must pay for our share of the expedition, and lie low. One problem persists: even with selling a substantial amount of our stock, InGen would not be able to cover the cost. I have therefore taken the liberty to create a list of what each one of us will have to sell," Richard explained, passing out a stack of paper, "and how much of our personal wealth we will each have to give."

"Wait, Richard, let me get this straight," a man at the table broke in, leaning into the middle of the table to look Richard in the eyes.

"I have to give _my _money for this adventure! I have to sell what–what does this say? My second house in Bermuda! This is outrageous. How can you make these demands?"

Richard stood silent for a moment, picked up a piece of paper and read aloud.

"Article four of an agreement between the UN and InGen made October 22nd, 1999: Any expenditures made on behalf of the islands in any form will be paid for in half or more, as determined by the UN, by the party of the second: InGen."

"And if I quit?"

"Then InGen will sue you for breach of contract you lousy son of a bitch," Richard snapped, throwing the papers onto the table.

"You know as well as I do that if any of us backs out of this, InGen will be caught. We can't allow for that! If we don't give into the demands of the UN, they will take all of this away and realize what's been going on these four years and put every single one of us in jail! It's either your house, or your life."

With that, the conference room grew silent. The man sitting at the table leaned back into his chair silent.

"People, people," Richard said pleadingly, "don't forget why you elected me CEO. And don't forget the plan. Sacrifice a little now, and at the end, InGen will be paying you back ten fold if not more.

"I promise."

* * *

"My dear boy, Alan. How are you?" 

"Good, John," Alan replied, helping John to sit in the chair at the small café where he and Billy had been sitting.

John's white hair was thinning and his face had begun to look tired and lifeless. John was getting older and Alan knew the pleading look in John's eyes as those from an anguished soul.

"And yourself, John?"

"Oh, I've been getting older and liking it less," he replied with a cough and slight grin.

"Not like I used to be. That is actually why I came to see you."

"Why is that?" Alan asked leaning in towards John.

"You see, I'm not as dumb as these doctors think I am. I know I'm dying–"

"Oh John," Alan interrupted.

"No, no, no! I know I am. I've also had a lot of time to look back on my life. Then I heard that you were in charge of an expedition to my islands. I have a favor to ask of you."

"I really shouldn't discuss this, John," Alan started, but was interrupted. John wasn't listening.

"I want you to make them protect the islands. The animals deserve to live. We breathed life into fossils, and they walked, and ran, and broke free like children will do! They are the relics of the ancient world and the dreams of childhood. We must preserve them. You must do all you can to save them. They're my children."

"Mr. Hammond, the decision is not mine to make. The UN will decide based on the expeditions findings on how safe the animals are to the environment. Don't forget, these are wild, living things that if they ever made it to the mainland, they could bring about horrible deaths to innocent people."

"Hmph," Mr. Hammond laughed slightly to himself.

"You see, Dr. Grant. These animals were made for the soul purpose to please the public. They are one of a kind, and rare indeed: as rare as the DNA we found to clone them. I wanted something that was real and something that people could come up and touch and know for sure it was real. Even if they can't do that physically as I had originally dreamed, they may do so now through the knowledge that the island exists and that there is still mystery in the world.

"Please. Alan. Do what you can. Bring back photographs and information on them. Correct the text books. Make the world know that Dinosaurs are here. Make my dream, my life-long work, come true. I'm too old to do this anymore." he trailed off, his eyes glazing over.

"You're my last hope."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Convergence

Exploding out of the damp foliage draped through the overgrown dirt-road, Nick Van Owen's van splashed into view. There was a jet waiting for him and he was late.

A few days before, when the UN had first contacted Nick about going, he was baffled and resistant to the idea.

_How could anyone want to return to the island_, he thought. But after they arrived at the US Embassy, Nick sat down and had a talk with the man in charge of the expedition and become more at ease with the idea.

"My name is Chancellor John Hilman," he recalled the man saying, shaking hands.

The two were seated in a small conference room on the fourth floor of the embassy. The American flag hung in the corner, with a small picture of president Beuler on the wall.

Nick leaned back into his chair, retracting his hand.

He could tell the Chancellor was a very astute man, and was immediately weary of him.

"Mr. Van Owen, we are very anxious about acquiring your help in this endeavor."

"Well," Nick answered, leaning forward slightly, "I've been to the island before and I am convinced that there is no level of planning that can protect you from what happeneds there."

The Chancellor smiled and, pulling some paperwork from his briefcase, began to explain.

"I agree."

Nick was baffled again.

"But you want me to go? You're not very convincing."

"Oh, Mr. Van Owen, you misunderstand me," John began.

"You see, we won't be going to Isla Sorna, at least not the way you're thinking."

Nick's interested was peaked and he leaned forward inquisitively.

"We have plans underway to convert one of the smaller islands–this one here–Isla Pena into the researching hub," he said, pointing to the southernmost and smallest island in the chain.

"The purpose of this expedition is two fold: first and foremost the UN is funding this mission to provide proof of either the animals safety–are the animals relatively isolated from man, can they get off the islands, are they too dangerous to be left alive; and lastly, to study the animals in their natural states, something you were a part of last time.

"The teams will remain mainly on Isla Pena. There will be helicopter and boat excursions to the areas around the island, but the hope is to minimize the amount of direct contact with the island. You see, Mr. Van Owen, we aren't going to make the same mistakes again."

Nick was nervous about the whole thing, but had, with some reservation, agreed to join the teams. Many things factored into his decision to go. For one, he would get paid by the National Geographic for the first ever, special edition magazine issue depicting actual photographs of dinosaurs in their natural habitat, a once in a life time opportunity for any journalist. An entire issue devoted to this one venture, and Nick was not going to be left behind.

After the San Diego incident, pictures–both fabricated and some nearly convincing in their realism–appeared in every magazine around the world. He recalled once on CNN watching a little boy explain what he had seen outside of his room; a 40 foot T-rex ate his dog Rex, whom he hated, and then proceeded to smash through his bedroom window, attempting to eat him and his parents too.

The National Inquirer had an article about Ian, Sarah, Eddy, and himself, outlining their story on the island. He had no idea how they got the information; none of the group had told the Inquirer the story, leaving the fabrication to be one of pure jest.

"Forty-foot Iguanas seen on deserted Tropical Island! Many die in heroic attempt to save the presidents daughter from certain prehistoric-peril!" it claimed, with photo-shopped pictures of the people who didn't look like them, staring down the face of giant, photo-shopped reptiles.

This promised to be different: nothing like the old attempts. This was going to be far better planned and well funded. He knew that he could back out at any time; that, if he wanted to, after the meeting with the team in San Diego, he could just say "nope, not going," and walk out unscathed and that gave him a great deal of confidence and ease.

The van came to a screeching stop, nearly spinning out, next to the runway where his jet lay in wait. He was prepared for this and promptly exited his van.

"Mr. Van Owen, we're running late. If you'll just take a seat, we can get some of the attendants to gather your things," a man wearing a business suit said stately, pointing at a group of men walking over to his van.

"Thanks. I just need some of the bags brought in," he said, opening the back of the van and handing some bags over to the attendants who rushed them onto the jet.

"I do have one question, is there any beer on the plane?"

"No, there isn't. I checked." came the voice of a young woman, standing on the steps of the jet.

Nick turned around. A gorgeous Indian woman with long black hair stood on the steps to the jet. He guessed she couldn't be more than twenty-seven. Her demeanor was that of a sophisticated woman, but her attitude was that of a brilliant and strong willed individual. Nick was intrigued.

"This is Mrs. Jessica Simon. She will be joining you on your flight to San Diego," the man in the suit stated.

"Hello," she nodded from the stairs,

Nick grabbed the last of his bags, still intrigued by this woman. He walked past the man in the suit, and planted the car keys deep into his hand. Walking toward the plane, he commented back to the man.

"Now be of some help and find a nice parking place. I don't think I'll be back any time soon."

* * *

"Next up on The Discovery Channel," the television announced loudly, Charlie listening intently from the couch. He'd been watching the tv since his mother went up stairs to take a shower and cry. She did that sometimes, and she had a good reason this time: Mark had left. Charlie was upset; he didn't know if his father was coming back or not. His parents had fought before, but never like this: it scared him. 

The phone started ringing. He jumped up from the couch, muting the tv and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Yes," the voice replied, "Is Ellie Degler in?"

"Yes," Charlie began, "but she's in the–"

"One moment please."

An upbeat jazz song started playing: the worst kind. It was the "you're on hold, get use to it" kind. Then a voice came on.

"You're listening to InGen phone lines: we make your future. Please stay tuned."

The voice ended and was replaced by the music again. Charlie had enough of waiting. Taking the phone from his ear, he listened for a moment and decided to hang up the phone.

"Mrs. Degler?"

Charlie quickly pulled the phone back to his ear.

"Uh, this is her son; Charlie."

"Oh, well," stammered the man on the phone.

"Charlie, this is Richard Nesky from InGen Co. We were wondering..."

"No, my mom wouldn't like to buy anything. Goodbye," Charlie interjected.

"Oh heavens no, this isn't like that!" Richard said with a light laugh.

"You see; I'm the CEO of InGen. Are you familiar with us?"

There was a pause while Charlie thought, then gasped sharply.

"You're...you... InGen...island...!"

Richard laughed.

"You see, you're mother–"

There was a pause.

"Do you like Dinosaurs, Chase?"

"Yes, I do! And it's Charlie."

"Oh yes, Charlie, gotcha'. Well, how about this: I need your mother to do something for me. Could you promise me something?"

"What is it?"

"It is important that your mother does this, and do whatever you must to get her to–heck, perhaps we could even accommodate you!" Richard said, laughing again.

"Just do and say as I tell you."

* * *

"–the insurance and stuff you know." Mr. Hammond finished after the butler opened the door to his limo. Alan and Billy stepped out and escorted the aging man to his jet. 

Alan noticed a slight drag on his right leg. It had always been there–it was why he had a cane–but it was even more severe now. He hunched over more now too, allowing his mouth to droop slightly. It was a heart-wrenching sight.

"I have something I must show you Alan," he said, turning around from the top of the stairs, looking down to where Alan stood, his poignancy having not fading even with age.

"Come have a look. You're welcome to take your friend along. It'll be but a minute."

Alan had a flash back: almost de ja vugh: '–I have a plane standing by at–.'

The three of them walked the stairs to his room in the back of the plane. It was obvious Hammond was one for doing everything in style.

The plane was nearly comparable in class to that of Air Force One, but smaller. It was a private jet, but that was no excuse to spare any expence.

One of the nurses tried to have him sit in a wheelchair but he rejected it, instead, hobbling slowly to his room.

On his desk sat three lap tops. Hammond, exhausted by the journey sat down upon his bead, pointing over to them and motioning Alan to bring one to him.

"You see, Alan, this is all that's left of Jurassic Park," Hammond sputtered out, opening the lap top. On the screen, a map of an island shone brightly with red dots on it.

"This is my world. These... are my creations. But like me, the're dying."

Silence filled the room. Alan looked at Hammond not quite understanding.

Hammond coughed, setting the lap top onto the bed. He grabbed a cup of water from his night table and drank from it, spilling a little onto himself.

"They're dying," Billy asked, stepping in closer.

"It's the only possible explanation! You see, over the past few years, I've been monitoring the islands via satellite. Their numbers fluctuate constantly because of birth and death–normal life cycle. But recently, within the past year and a half, there has been a steady decline in the dinosaur population. Already, one species is gone: Carnotaur. See!" he said, pointing to it's name flashing red with a zero next to it.

"Gone! It has again returned to the text books, never to be studied or seen again. The other dinosaurs are dropping in number as well.

"Now, some species are remaining in there. They are the stronger ones: Brachiosaurus, Diplodocus, mainly the large and the extremely small like the Compy's."

Alan stood, soaking it all in. If Hammond was correct, the island could go completely desolate within a years time on its own. Extinction wasn't always something attributed just to the catastrophic problems after all. Sometimes, animal species just slowly die out it looked like, though it didn't entirely make sense. How did they live so long on their own.

"These are heat satellite photos–" Billy asked, noticing the readings on the screen.

"Updated every minute," Hammond responded, nodding his head.

"Runs on the same system the island use to run on except by heat instead of visual.

"Alan," Hammond said, looking him in the eyes, "They are dying out, again. You must find out what is causing this–driving them to extinction. The idea that the people of the world will never know the full extent of the beauty and grander of these animals–" Hammond said, trailing off and letting his gaze fall form Alan's eyes to the screen.

The pain was almost unbearable to watch: like a child seeing his pet dying before him.

"What are these dots?" Billy asked, looking at the computer screen.

"The green ones? It means the satellite is picking up a heat signature but can't decipher what it is. Those pop up every once in a while. It usually means an animal has been injured or hurt, or that it's battling with another dinosaur and the computer can't pull the two apart and get's confused. Sometimes, as the dinosaurs die, or sleep, or sunbathe the heat signatures are muffled up. It's nothing."

"Aren't there other island in the area," Alan thought aloud.

"Could they possibly have migrated to them?" Billy chimed in.

Hammond laughed.

"Always the scientist, Alan. That's what I liked about you, my dear boy."

Hammond's eyes shifted over to a desk which held two other lap tops. He pointed at one, then the other.

"That one is Isla Matanceros and Isla Muerta. The other is Isla Tecano and Isla Pena. Dreadful names. We've been monitoring them too. Originally that was the problem–not enough coverage, but we're past that now. The charts now factor in those animals too but we're still losing them! Please. Alan," Hammond paused, putting his hands on Alan's shoulders, "You have to do some–"

"Mr. Hammond," Alan interjected, "I cannot promise you anything except that I will do what is in the best interest of the planet. There are places in the world where children are dying–where people are dying, and to allow an island to remain this way and to use, at the nations of the world expense, money to maintain them is, unfortunately," he slowed down, noticing Hammonds face drain of some color and his head droop slightly.

"–is not that important."

"Alan, dear boy," Hammond said, lifting his face, patting him on the back, "all these years, you always did tell me how it is. It's my lot in life I fear."

They smiled together, Hammond's hand still on Alan's shoulder.

"It's time for him to get ready now," a nurse announced from the door.

"It's ok, Hannah. These are my friends I told you about. Dr. Grant, and–"

"Oh, your _friends!_ Well, say goodbye to them. The jet is ready to take off."

And with that, Alan and Billy said their final goodbyes, and were driven back home.

* * *

Light trickled into the large room, illuminating the oval table that lay in its center. A man sat in a large padded chair, alined so only a small amount of light from the window shone onto his face. 

"Send him in," he said aloud.

"I am here as you requested sir."

"Yes," the seated man began, never changing position.

"I have a proposition for you. You see, I found you because I had been told you had experience in this sort of thing. You could do it, and quietly. I need this done with absolute precision. Absolutely no mistakes! _You_ can't afford to.

"You see, I need them out of my hair for the next couple of months. I have a packet here for you to read. It explains everything you need to know. Do what you must to get rid of them."

"And they are?" the man asked.

"Here is a small list of who you'll need to watch. You are expected to get rid of them all, or we will pay you nothing. You hear? If one survives, then you and I have never met. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. You will also see on there your code name. Use it. The flight leaves in a week. Be there."

"I understand."

* * *

Alan picked up the phone and proceeded to dial. 

"Hello," a woman's voice answered.

"Hi. This is Alan Grant, is Eric in? I've been trying to reach him but all his other numbers don't–"

"Alan?! This is Amanda! How are you?"

"I'm good. How is the family?"

"Good, good. Paul and I ended up getting back together. Eric is over right now. He's home from college for the week."

"Can I speak to him?"

"Sure-sure," Amanda finished.

Alan could hear her calling out for her son though the muffled phone.

"He'll be here in a second."

"Hello," Eric's voice asked through another phone.

"Hang up the phone mom."

"Alright, alright. Nice talking to you again Dr. Grant. Feel free to say 'hi' anytime your in town!"

"Will do," Alan replied.

There was a click and then Eric spoke.

"Hey, Dr. Grant. How are you?"

"I'm great Eric. I was wondering what your plans are for the next month or so?"

There was a pause and then Eric spoke again.

"Not really anything. I've got some time off from college. Why do you ask? Need some help in Montana excavating."

Alan chuckled.

"Not exactly."

* * *

"This is delta flight 402 coming in for a landing, over," Eli spoke into the microphone. 

"Roger that flight 402. Runway 5 is clear for landing."

Today had been too long of a day. Eli hadn't gotten enough sleep let alone free time to call his wife at home; he was gonna hear from her tonight.

"Commence landing procedures," Eli ordered the flight crew of the small private jet. The landing gear went down without a hitch and everyone was buckled in.

"Flight 402, this is tower, please verify clear landing strip."

Eli thought for a moment, realizing what an odd request he'd been given. He looked out over the nose of the plane towards the runway.

The runways in Costa Rica weren't usually anything more than dirt: this was no exception. The poorly lit, long stretch of land looked serene in the night.

"Copy that, this is flight 402. Landing strip looks clear–wait" and that's when Eli saw it: a large shadow moving around in the forest near the runway. It started to move across the runway when the plane's lights caught its attention. It stared directly back at them like a deer stuck in headlights.

"Flight 402, do not, I repeat, do not attempt landing! There is an animal on the runway," the earphones screamed at him. He had seen it, but it was too late: their air speed was too low. They had to land.

"Evasive maneuvers," Eli screamed out to the bridge crew who held on for dear life. The passengers began to scream as the plane tilted back and the engines roared. Eli struggled to right the plane, bringing the pitch higher as the animal grew ever large in his window.

His eyes were squinted tightly, trying to get the plane to pull up. He opened them just enough to see the object change from black as night to a flustered red-ish pink in the landing lights.

It opened it's mouth and ran into the forest. The plane continued to pull up but to no avail, the plane was coming down.

"Everybody hold on!"

The plane continued to drop from the sky until the landing gear caught it, and, leveling out the pane, brought it to a stop after a few bumps. They had landed relatively safely: sliding a little and rolling off the runway into a field but no one was hurt.

"Flight 402, do you copy?"

"This is flight 402, we copy you, what was that?"

There was a moment of silence, then the tower responded.

"Do you wish to file a report?"

Eli thought for a moment. He mind still circling on the event. What he had seen didn't make sense: they didn't exist. If he made a report, he would never be taken seriously again in any circles.

"Negative. I don't. No report."

* * *

**

* * *

**

**One Week Later**

The sun shone brightly in the city of San Diego. Alan walked with Billy into the new InGen business center. The old ones had been sold after the reorganization and the business consolidated into a small 10 story office complex, with four or so other businesses sharing the lot with their own buildings.

"And I thought it got hot in Montana," Billy remarked to Alan who smiled lightly.

The group had been called out to San Diego for the first meeting of the team. InGen was hosting the meeting while the UN was going to have their representatives present to speak to the group.

So far, Alan had been informed of ten or so people who were going. Those people then were broken up into two teams. Alan had himself organized the teams. He worried about the expedition but he was happy with how things were being organized though he hadn't the slightest idea what to expect.

"Welcome, everybody. I'd like to introduce myself. My name is John Hilman, Chancellor to the United States in the United Nations. You all have been called here to have the first meeting for the expedition to the InGen islands. Here to give you some more information on this trip is the CEO of InGen, Richard Nesky," John finished, clapping and moving away from the podium.

The meeting had been called in a large conference room. There was a large circular table which all the participants sat at their respective spots. At the front of the table, with a view through large glass windows over looking the business park, was the podium where Richard now stood.

"Thank you. I'd like you all to take some time today and overlook the flight plan and finalize it in your head. If you have any questions let me or your group leaders know.

"First off, I'd like to give you all a small overview of how the trip will go," Richard began, pointing to the center of the large round table where a map of the islands lay with small markers on them.

"This island is Isla Pena. This will be your home for the next month. Already, facilities stand ready to be used. There is a living area where everyone will have their own tent. There are also lavatories, showers, and a dining area near by. We have already sent some water sanitizers and de-salinization machines to the island. They are prepared for your arrival. There is also a small power facility there which will be able to power all your electronics while you are there, via solar power. We will keep in constant contact with the teams via internet where the teams will send their findings. The island is equipped with three helicopter landing platforms and an emergency plane landing strip. Lastly, the island is surrounded by an electric fence to protect from anything that might feel the need to come ashore.

"I can assure you, there is nothing we haven't thought of or planned for. The teams will be safe and this expedition will be a massive success."

Alan was pleased. It seemed like everything was in place for an expedition. He knew though that things could turn ugly quickly. These islands had a murphy's law to them: what ever could go wrong, will.

"And how will the expedition be set up?" Jessica Simon asked from the other end of the table.

"For that, I will give you over to the man in charge of the excursions themselves, Dr. Alan Grant."

The room filled with applause as Alan walked from his chair to the podium.

"Morning," Alan began.

"I have had the privilege to take on the job of assigning the teams. Right now, there are two teams. Team one, or my team, will be in charge of looking at the animals and how they interact with the islands and the mainland. Safety is the main purpose of this mission. We are here to mainly figure out if these islands should remain isolated or destroyed. Please, everyone, keep that in mind. That team is Eric Kirby, Nick Van Owen, Sam Slayter, and myself.

"Team two, lead by my assistant Mr. Brennan will be in charge of studying the animals themselves. These are prehistoric beasts that haven't roamed the Earth in over 65 Million years, or more. Some of these animals never lived together at all. Please, team two, keep that in mind when studying how these animals act. Team two is Billy Brennan, Jessica Simon, and Carl Shooter.

"These are genetically recreated animals. There is no guarantee that their behavior is still intact. Team two will study the animals and document them for further study and research. This is the only chance we will ever get to study these animals alive, and in their natural habitat.

"Make the most of it."

* * *

"Oh Alan," Richard Nesky yelled out across the room. Two hours had passed since the meeting had adjure, leaving everyone to grab their things and head off to the hotel for the night. 

"Yes," Alan asked, turning around.

"I just wanted to let you know that team two has a new member to it that I took the liberty to adding.

"Who is it?"

"Hey, Al," Came the voice of Ellie from the door, Charlie in tow.

"I can-not believe you!" Alan snapped at Ellie in their adjoined hotel rooms.

"Alan! Not in front of Charlie."

The two walked into Alan's room, leaving Charlie in the other.

"You know how dangerous these islands can be. Why would you agree to go!"

"Alan. You don't–" she trailed off.

"You don't understand."

"I still can't believe you decided to go. And to take Charlie!"

"Alan. We have nothing back at home. Besides, I talked to Richard. We're just going to stay on the island–on Isla Pena. We're gonna stay there, where its safe, and study the findings there. It's gonna be completely safe."

"I don't like this," Alan admitted, sitting down on his bed.

"Alan, I'm sorry I did this. But we'll be fine.

"I promise."


End file.
